Lust, Lies and Tinsel Ties Read online

  “Actually, we got it for a steal at one-point-two.”

  Both women turned. Bree gasped at the sight of the man standing immediately behind them, leaning into the bar. The color of his sparkling eyes rivaled the most clear blue turquoise she’d ever seen. His chiseled features forced her to catch a breath. It was difficult to immediately discern whether he was Anglo or Native…probably bi-racial. His complexion was much darker than hers; his semi-short, light brown hair, deliciously unkempt.

  What a beautiful man.

  And there was something slightly familiar about him.

  Looking anywhere but straight into his face, Bree acted nonchalant. “You’re right. That price was a steal.”

  “We know.”

  The man pushed away from the bar and held out a hand to Bree. “Carson Graham. And you are?”

  “The hired help.”

  Ginger poked her elbow in her side, and Bree jumped. She took Carson’s hand and shook it. “I’m Bree, and she’s Ginger.”

  Carson snickered. “Bree?”

  “Yeah. Like the cheese.”

  The right corner of his mouth stayed in smile-mode.

  “And she’s Ginger, like the cookie.”

  Carson laughed out loud.

  The bartender set the last of her drinks on her tray. Squeezing between Carson and Ginger, she smiled back and said, “And I have drinks to deliver. Nice to meet you.”

  Her fumbling fingers grasped the tray and in that second, she realized she was trembling. Not since she’d broken up with Sam a couple of months ago, had she realized how much she missed being close to a man.

  She loved men.

  Men.

  Plural.

  And that was the trouble. The men she dated always seemed to want some sort of commitment. It was difficult for her to settle. And sooner or later, bored and unsatisfied, she strayed…

  Carson stopped her with a hand to her forearm. She rested the tray against the bar and once more, peered into his eyes. “Have we met?” he queried.

  Confused, unsure why he seemed so familiar, she shook her head. “Um, earlier tonight? No.”

  Cocking his head to one side, he narrowed his gaze and studied her. “No. Prior to tonight. I never forget a face.” He wriggled his fingers, as if he was itching to touch her. “Or a profile.” Then he did just that, touched her. Reaching out, he grazed a soft, fingertip stroke across her cheekbone and then traced the outline of her jaw, as if he were rendering a line drawing of her face. An unexpected shiver crannied through her and sped toward her center. His touch had instantly aroused her and it came from out of nowhere. “I’m an artist,” he continued, “and I never forget a contour…”

  Bree huffed out a quick breath, trying to quell the short pants that wanted to escape her mouth. “I’m not sure, Carson. I-”

  Someone bumped into her from behind, pushing her closer into him. He steadied her against his chest-which did absolutely nothing to quell her arousal, but served to completely stimulate it. She inhaled, deep, and took in the sharp spice of his aftershave, and nearly melted.

  Her face was in his neck. “I should deliver those drinks,” she whispered.

  Steadying her in front of him, Carson stared deep into her eyes, then lifted the tray and put it in her hands. “Go deliver your drinks, Ms. Santa. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She hesitated, and did a slow turn, as Carson’s hands dropped to her hips and his fingertips grazed the hem of her skirt.

  And the cheeks of her ass.

  The action sent her sex into a decadent pucker of desire.

  * * * *

  It was another hour before things slowed down enough to where Bree could catch her breath and a couple of sideways glances at Carson. Each time their eyes met, a little thrill raced through her. It was approaching midnight, the appointed time of the charity auction, and the remaining crowd of about forty people were either settling into sofas and overstuffed chairs, drinks in hand, or milling about aimlessly chatting with one another.

  Carson Graham, at the moment, was no where to be found.

  She snickered to herself. Graham. Like the cracker.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Ted the bartender busied himself cleaning up behind the bar. “Just thought of something,” she told him. “No big deal. Hey, you need some help?”

  “Yeah.” He was loading some dirty glasses into a plastic carrier. “Mind taking some of these back to the kitchen? I need to start a dishwasher load. Somehow I became bartender and chief bottle washer once the weather turned nasty.”

  “Sure.” Bree joined him behind the bar. Much of the hired help had been dismissed an hour or so earlier. She and Ginger had decided to stay on, confident ‘ol Ginny would get them back down the mountain.

  Ginger moved in, slid an arm around Ted’s waist, smiled, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Bree raised a brow. Obviously, there was another reason Ginger wanted to stick around.

  “What time do you think we can get out of here,” she asked, adding glasses to Bree’s plastic bin. “I am so ready to go.” She kicked off a red Mary Jane and reached down to rub a foot. “What about you, Bree?”

  At the moment, Bree was conflicted about leaving sooner rather than later. She scanned the room again. No Carson. She shrugged. “I’m with you, Ginger. I leave when you leave.”

  “Ted needs a ride,” Ginger returned.

  “Okay by me.” She hefted the bin of glasses, wondering just what kind of ride Ted would get later tonight. She watched as he palmed Ginger’s butt through her dress. “I’ll get these started.” Behind her, she heard a tinkling of glasses and a female voice raise over the crowd, attempting to gain attention. She continued on into the kitchen.

  With an oomph, she hoisted the container onto the counter and bent to open the dishwasher. Good. Clean dishes. One by one she emptied the glasses and small plates and stacked them on the counter. Every once in a while she stretched to work the kinks out of her back.

  Oh boy, was she ever tired.

  * * * *

  Had he been on his game tonight, Jake would have been out in the great room, peering up at Grace Walker, the chair of the committee raising money for the homeless shelter downtown off Central, smiling and clapping his hands as she announced the merits of each item up for auction.

  Of course, he wasn’t on his game, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass what useless trinkets were up for grabs tonight. The whole notion was silly, anyway. Each of those items was already sold to their owners, the bidding having taken place prior to the party. It was all show, and he wondered why they were even going through the motions since the press didn’t show up for the party, anyway, due to the weather.

  At best, he felt disconnected to the entire ordeal, but his body sure as hell jerked to attention as soon as he stepped through the back entrance to the kitchen.

  His heart pounded in his throat. Thank God there was no one else in the room with whom he had to speak. He wasn’t sure he could. All he could do, however, was stand and stare.

  The obvious item that caught his attention was the skimpy red Santa dress trimmed in white fur-and the woman wearing it. The boots, why yes, those were quite the thing, as well. Sleek and sexy and screaming “come fuck me” at the top of their lungs. The long mane of almost jet black hair that swung over her shoulder was the piece of the picture that made his chest clutch in addled surprise. The bronzed and dewy skin of her long legs made him think of only one thing-a perfect passage to the nectar of the gods. Her thighs gave way to a luscious round derrière that peeked out from beneath that fur-lined skirt each time she bent to pull out a dish or put one in.

  His gut quivered.

  She stood and he got the full profile effect.

  “No.” The word whooshed out on a breath before he could drag it back.

  Bree sensed, more than heard, the one word exclamation of angst that filled the room around her. Slowly, she rotated to her rear, and immediately caught site of the man standing behind her.<
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  Her entire being trilled at the sight of him, and suddenly it all came back in a whoosh…

  * * * *

  She tapped her pencil on her desk top, keeping rhythm with the nervous kick of her leg beneath it. Leaning toward the two men, she feigned attention on both but was totally fixated on the tall, dark-headed man who sat to her left. And he, it appeared, was giving off come-hither vibes like nobody’s business.

  “So you’re looking for something in the mountains?”

  “I’d actually prefer downtown,” the sandy-haired one remarked. Drawing her gaze away, she focused on this man for a moment. “A condo would be best,” he offered. “Small and efficient. Perhaps an outside deck area but nothing elaborate. Good lighting, natural, at least in one room, for my studio.”

  “What do you consider small?” she asked.

  “Thirty-five hundred square feet, or about.”

  Handsome, sexy, and rich. Nice combo. And there were two of them.

  The way-too-viral man to his left cleared his throat and leaned closer. “That’s his preference. Not necessarily mine. If you’re asking for our wish lists, yes, I do prefer the mountains. The east side, of course, looking down over the Turquoise Trail. Something sprawling and authentic that reeks of the Southwest. A great view. A pool would be nice. Guest quarters for when the families come to visit, should they visit, and so on.”

  Bree swallowed and kept tapping her pencil against the Plexiglas desk top. She glanced from one man to another. The dark-headed one-what was his name? Oh yes. Jake. Jake Baldwin-appeared engrossed with her. She licked her lips and found it difficult to sit still in her seat. “So in other words the two of you are at an impasse.”

  “No,” Jake scooted even closer and laid a hand over her tapping pencil and fingers. Her knee stopped jerking. “Where we are at, is that you will find something that comprises both our needs.” He grinned, and Bree felt an electric current spark from his eyes and make a beeline straight for her pussy. Dammit. These two men were a couple, and she was getting so turned on by that. What the hell?

  But his eyes…the lightest shade of blue, and the contrast of his inky black hair. The combination was spell-binding and, shit, yes, she was captivated.

  He continued, “We need for you to be our common ground, Ms. Conner. The bridge between us, so to speak. We trust you.”

  Between them. She glanced from one highly potent male specimen to another. They both oozed sexuality and pure, unadulterated maleness. They were a couple. Gay, she supposed, or bi-sexual?

  Why was she feeling like this?

  Not to mention that the heat from his palm, still tented over hers, felt erotic as hell, and somehow protective at the same time. She glanced down. Was his thumb caressing hers?

  “I see I have my work cut out for me.”

  He cast a sly smile her way. “That, you do.” Then breaking away, he stood. “May I borrow your restroom?”

  “Of course.” She stood as well. “Down the hall and to the left.”

  He nodded and headed that way.

  Ginger swept in at that moment. “I found those listings,” she began, sitting beside the sandy-haired client. “Let’s see how you like some of these.”

  Carson nodded and reached for the files.

  Bree glanced down the hall.

  No. She shouldn’t.

  “Excuse me.”

  Her heels clicked down the ceramic tile hallway. Loud. Her small, private office sat across the hall from the single bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, her hands resting on the casing, she cast a sideways glance. The fine hairs at her neck stood erect.

  She swiveled on the ball of her foot.

  He stood framed in the opposite doorway, a question on his face that must have rivaled the one on her own. Her heart banged against her chest as she stepped across the hallway.

  He pulled her inside with one swift motion. The door clicked shut behind them. He locked it and crowded her up against it.

  She moaned as he covered her mouth with his firm, wet lips and kissed her. Hard.

  His hands wandered, bunching up the hem of her dress; the heat of his fingers scorched her inner thigh as they inched toward her center.

  Breaking away with a gasp, she took his face into her hands and searched his face. In the next instant, she lunged forward and plunged her tongue into his mouth. Passion raced through her, and every nerve-ending in her body felt alive with anticipation-and desire-as they sloppily and hungrily tasted each other.

  He pushed her skirt up around her waist and curled a finger around her thong, jerking downward. She tugged his shirt out of his trousers.

  “Hurry,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” The single word came from deep in his throat and echoed her urgency.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Yes.”

  Her hands worked over his fly and boxers as she unveiled his glorious cock. She gasped and took it in her palm, curling her fingers around his velvet smoothness, thumbing over his throbbing maleness. “Oh, my god…” He was, indeed, scrumptious. Long and thick, with a massive head that promised pleasure.

  He turned her against the door in one rough, insistent move, then raised her hands over her head. One of his large hands held her wrists tight while the other slid down her back, over her ass, and slipped between her thighs.

  Slowly, he dragged a finger into her slit and backwards up between her ass cheeks. Then again. Shivering at his touch, she squirmed against his hand. “More,” she whimpered.

  “Goddamn you are hot and wet. Spread for me.”

  She arched her back and pushed her ass toward him. His fingers plunged into her. She pushed her shoulders into the door for leverage and groaned.

  Heightened passion gripped her as he stroked.

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “Hurry.” They’d already been gone several minutes. Would anyone notice? In her mind’s eye, she could see him large and engorged behind her, waiting to plunge himself…

  He did as she asked.

  The length of his silky cock sank into her; she exhaled in exquisite pleasure. He covered her body with his and pushed slowly in and out, both his hands now above her head, laying flat over her arms and hands, holding her there. She was trapped between the door and the hard plane of his body, impaled by his firm flesh and one helluva decadent cock.

  She lost all sense of time and place.

  Jake groaned and repeatedly pumped into her, over and over again.

  “Oh god, don’t stop,” she whispered.

  “I could fuck your ass forever,” he breathed.

  “Do it.”

  His lips were at her ear, his breath moist and warm. “Your pussy is as good as I thought…knew…”

  Moaning, and clasping his fingers tightly over hers, he increased his thrusts until she silently panted her own explosive release, mingling her fingers with his grip, and pancaking the side of her face against the door. With a stifled shout, and an overall trembling of his body, he held on to her and lowered his mouth to her shoulder and bit…while he spilled his own release.

  Their breathing settled into slow unison. They stayed together against the door for only a moment. Jake pulled out and turned her to face him. Still breathing heavily, she searched his face. Never had she been taken quite so unexpectedly, or spontaneously, by a man who intrigued her as much. His exotic looks and sensuality were her undoing. And at that moment, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with any of the thoughts and feelings racing through her head and heart.

  He traced a forefinger over her cheekbone and peered deep into her eyes.

  “I’ve not been with a woman in years,” he offered. “You… Dammit. You…”

  Then he broke away, shaking his head. She watched as he tucked that marvelous cock of his inside his pants and straightened the rest of his clothing. Finally, rubbing his hands over his face, he lifted his gaze to look at her again. “I’m sorry. I should have had more control.”

  She shook her head, ready to say something-to say,
No, it was me. I should have had more control. You are so damned irresistible-but he grasped her by the forearms and scooted her out of the way, and left.

  * * * *

  Six months flew through Bree’s psyche with a flash of memory. All of a sudden, she knew why Carson had looked so familiar. She’d not paid him much attention that day, her world totally filled with the man standing before her now. Jake Baldwin. Ginger hadn’t questioned later that day when she said they couldn’t take the two men on as clients. They had an unspoken rule that when one of them said no, the other listened. It was professional suicide, she knew, but it couldn’t happen.

  But Jake and Carson had not called back, making it easy.

  Now, here they stood, facing each other again.

  “So you got your way, huh?” She hooked into his gaze and held.

  Shaking himself, Jake took a tentative step forward. “The house, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “We compromised. Sort of.”

  “It’s a lovely place.”

  The connection between them was magnetic, and she felt drawn to him like she was the back end of a rubber band. It didn’t help that he was slowly walking toward her, increasing the tension.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Bree glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. The benefit. Volunteering. The company…”

  He nodded. “I see.” Then, staring off to the side, added, “I couldn’t call back.”

  “I was glad you didn’t.”

  He jerked back to look at her. “It was…complicated.”

  Nodding, she agreed. “Yes.”

  “Bree…”

  She closed her eyes at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue. With him out of sight, the distance between them was even more palpable. Her chest quavered with pins and needles, every nerve ending on edge. And then…

  He touched her. Gently. Taking her hand in his.

  “I have never been so fascinated by a woman…” he whispered. “And I’ve not been able to get you out of…”

  Noise from the living area interrupted their encounter, and Ginger and Ted burst into the kitchen on its heels. They broke away from each other. Jake sidestepped her and moved toward the entrance to the great room. Turning, Bree watched him disappear into the room; then she exhaled, long and hard.